


Unfinished Business

by phantisma



Category: Leverage
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate gets a call from a wounded and trapped Eliot who only wants a ride home, but Nate can't just leave him once he realizes just how wounded Eliot is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was well after 10 pm and considering they hadn't had a case in a few days, there was no real reason Nate was sitting in his office contemplating the bottle of Scotch on his desk. He wasn't feeling compelled to open it though, he just was not ready to go home to an empty apartment.

Not that the empty office was all that much better. Okay, it also wasn't completely empty. Nearly everyone was off working at…whatever it was they worked at when Nate wasn't supervising. All except Hardison, who Nate was beginning to suspect slept on that overstuffed couch he bought for his office when he actually slept. The guy was always there, any time Nate showed up, doing something, playing with his high tech gadgets.

Nate sighed and put the bottle away. There was no point. Starting now would only make going home harder. He stood, grabbing for his jacket. He was three steps from the door when the phone in his pocket rang. Eliot's name flashed on the screen. Nate pressed the button to connect and lifted the phone to his ear. When nothing but air greeted him, he pulled the phone away to make sure it connected. "Eliot?"

There was harsh breathing and what sounded like a groan.

"Eliot? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said finally. "Need a lift."

"Where are you?" Nate crossed to his desk to grab a pen. When Eliot gave him the address, Nate frowned. "What are you doing—never mind. I don't want to know."

And he didn't. Whatever his team did when they weren't working a case was up to them. Period. He didn't ever want to know.

"I can be there in a half hour."

"Sooner is better." Eliot hung up.

Nate stared at his phone, wondering what Eliot had gotten himself into that he would call Nate for a ride…not to mention what had happened to his own ride. Nate shook his head and headed out, ignoring Hardison's startled yell when he turned out the lights and smiling to himself as he climbed into his car.

_"Sooner is better."_

The smile faded as Nate pulled out onto the nearly empty streets and considered the strain in Eliot's voice. Of course, it was difficult to tell if there was something wrong. Eliot's voice always sounded a little constrained, unless he was angry…or the game called for yelling.

Still…it wasn't like Eliot. Nate sped up and turned down the street that would take him out of respectable downtown, through the rough industrial neighborhood and into the dark, narrow streets where even police only came in numbers. Leave it to Eliot to get himself stranded in a place like this.

Nate watched the streets around him, lined with broken down old tenements and burned out shop fronts. The streets seemed empty, but for a small gang of boys on one street corner smoking and trying to convince each other they were tough. The quiet itself was unsettling. This was gang territory, drugs and crime a way of life. The streets were usually filled with punks and gangsters, whores and wanna-be bad-guys, but it seemed no one was around.

But, somewhere out here was Eliot…and probably plenty of trouble. Not from your average street gang either. Not with Eliot. Okay, so maybe Nate was a little bit worried now. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he eased the gun out of its hiding place under the seat, settling it under his hand as he turned onto the street Eliot had given him.

His phone rang and Nate let go of the gun to lift it. "Eliot?"

"I see you. Keep coming, slow down, open the door, don't stop."

Nate slowed way down, reaching over the seat to open the passenger side door. Eliot came out of the shadows between two buildings, limping badly as he ran for the car. Shots rang out and Eliot stumbled, nearly fell. Nate slowed even more, ducking as a man jumped into the street in front of him, shooting.

Eliot's hand was in the car and Nate grabbed it, pulling hard. "Go. Go." Eliot wasn't even fully in the car, his feet dangling out the open door. Nate swerved around the gunman and Eliot kicked the door into him sending him flying.

"Drive. I'm fine." Eliot said when Nate didn't move fast enough. He pulled himself up so that he was sitting instead of laying across the seat, groaning and wincing. He pulled the door shut and leaned back against the seat.

"Eliot. That isn't fine."

Eliot waved his hand dismissively. "Just get me back to my place."

"You need to be in a hospital." Nate tried to divide his attention between the road and Eliot's face.

"No. Just…" He closed his eyes and held his ribs with one hand while the other went to the bleeding wound in his thigh. "Home, okay?"

He wanted to say no, he wanted to argue, but he nodded, and got them on the right road. Eliot's eyes stayed closed and he seemed to drift. Nate tried to get an idea of Eliot's injuries, but when he reached over to check the bleeding in his shoulder, Eliot grunted and pulled away.

He opened his left eye and looked at Nate. "I'm fine."

"Right. You're bleeding all over my seat, but you're fine."

"I've had worse."

Nate stopped the car in front of Eliot's apartment building and started to open the door. "I don't doubt that, but--"

Eliot shook his head, the hand he held up bloody. "I got it. Thanks."

He opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, groaning before sinking slowly to one knee, still holding onto the door.

Nate got out and came around, looking down at him. Eliot rolled his eyes, then nodded and let Nate help him up. Nate pushed the door closed and took as much of Eliot's weight off his leg as he could. The walk to his door was slow and by the time they reached it, Eliot's head lolled against Nate's shoulder.

Nate fished in Eliot's pocket for his keys and got the door opened, hauling Eliot inside over hardwood floors and onto the couch in his living room, settling him onto it before going back to check the hallway and close the door.

"We left a trail of blood out there." Nate said as he squatted in front of Eliot.

"Not the first time." Eliot licked his lips and then grimaced.

"First aid kit?"

"Bathroom. Closet."

"Okay, stay here, I'll be right back." Nate left Eliot and made his way down the hall, turning on the bathroom light. He opened the closet door and whistled low. Where most people kept towels and washcloths, Eliot had shelves of medical supplies. He gathered bandages and antiseptic, a kit of surgical needles and thread, not that he knew what to do with them, but Eliot had sewn him up once. Nate paused, his eyes skipping over pill bottles. He grabbed a bottle of pain meds and went back to the living room.

Eliot's eyes were closed, his head back. If not for the blood and bruises, he'd look almost peaceful. Nate cleared his throat and put the first aid supplies on the coffee table, dragging the table closer.

Eliot dragged in a deep breath and opened his eyes. Nate patted his knees as he perched on the end of the table. "Okay, what's first?"

One blood crusted hand went to Eliot's thigh. "Gunshot. It went all the way through."

Nate nodded. "What about the shoulder?"

Eliot blinked and turned his head slowly. "It's…not as bad."

"Okay, let's get you out of these." Nate's hands went to Eliot's waist, popping the button on his jeans and ignoring the vague smile and eyebrow raise as he worked the pants down, easing them past the oozing wound and down until he had to pause to get Eliot's boots off first.

"Always knew you wanted to get me out of my pants." Eliot joked before he groaned and leaned forward, holding his ribs.

Nate forced himself to focus on the gun shot, which at least seemed to have stopped bleeding. "You going to tell me how this happened?" Nate asked as he started to clean up the wound.

Eliot hissed, then grabbed his hand. "Thought you didn't want to know."

Nate looked up at him. "I have to admit, I'm curious about who or what could do this. To you."

Eliot released him and sat back. "They cheated."

"Cheated." Nate repeated. Clearly there had to be numbers involved and weapons, probably an ambush of some kind.

"Old friends." Eliot's eyes were closed again. He settled back against the couch and let Nate work. "Unfinished business…It was supposed to be a simple trade, you know? I get in, grab the merchandise and get it out of there while the money changed hands."

"But something went wrong?"

Eliot nodded. "They cheated." His eyes opened when Nate poured antiseptic over the wound. "You're gonna have to stitch it."

Nate shook his head. "I've never…"

He smiled vaguely. "Give me a couple of those and I'll walk you through it." Eliot half-heartedly pointed at the bottle. Nate doled out two and handed them over. Eliot swallowed them dry and gestured to the surgical kit. "Thread a needle."

Eliot was quiet while Nate did as he said. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, slower. "Now, pinch the sides…push the needle through…"

Nate took a deep breath and nodded, his hand hovering over Eliot's thigh. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

Eliot's face dropped forward, scowling. "Who else is there?"

"Right. Okay…" He licked his lips and brought the needle in close, pinching the wound together with his other hand. When he still hesitated, Eliot's sticky hand closed over his and shoved the needle into his skin. Nate winced, but Eliot didn't, he just sighed and fell back against the couch.

"Just do it."

Three stitches later, the wound was closed and Eliot walked him through tying it off. "Gonna have to do the other side." Eliot grunted as he tried to move so he could lay down.

"Wait. I can…" Nate moved so he was on the floor and lifted Eliot's foot up to his shoulder so he could reach the exit side of the wound. He cleaned it and re-threaded the needle, his hand a little steadier this time around.

Eliot was fading fast when he'd finished, his eyes half closed, his cheeks flushed. "Ribs or shoulder?" Nate asked, making him open his eyes.

Eliot blinked up at him for a few minutes. "Shoulder…dirty."

"Okay." He was going to need to get Eliot's shirt off to get a good look. Judging from the way his eyes rolled shut, Nate probably couldn't expect a whole lot more help from him. He lifted the scissors out of the surgical kit, but hesitated. Not that the shirt wasn't totaled….Nate blew out the breath he was holding and cut up the sleeve, pulling the shirt away from the bloody wound it was sticking to. He kept cutting until he could pull the material away from Eliot's skin and toss it aside.

He wasn't kidding when he said the wound was dirty. It didn't appear to be deep, though it was long, starting near his collarbone and crossing onto the shoulder and arm in a long S-like wound. It was jagged and something that looked like rust dusted his skin along one side, which probably meant it had gotten inside too.

Nate spared a glance at Eliot's chest and the dark purple bruising covering the ribs on both sides. Someone had really worked him over good. He inhaled and told himself to focus.

Eliot stirred as he used gauze and antiseptic to try to clean the wound, picking pieces of his cotton t-shirt out as he went. The wound was deeper over the curve of the shoulder, where it dropped down onto the arm. The blood had begun to crust over and Nate had to pry it open to flush it with the liquid. Eliot yelled and opened his eyes.

"Sorry. Sorry." Eliot's eyes met his, hazy and out of focus. There wasn't much more he could do, so he reached for the antibiotic ointment and bandages. By the time Nate had the shoulder and thigh covered in white, Eliot was breathing softly, his eyes closed. He sighed, nodding. Sleep was only one thing the kid needed.

Nate certainly wasn't getting him up and into bed, but the couch should be fine for now, at least until the pain meds wore off. It looked comfortable enough anyway. It wasn't quite like the rest of the furniture, newer, a little more modern. Nate eased Eliot down onto his back, lifting both legs and setting a pillow under the bandaged thigh.

In this position it was easier to see the bruising on Eliot's face, as his hair slid away off his cheeks. His left eye was black, above and below the eye and that cheek was bright red with blues and purples starting to fill in.

His bottom lip was split and bloody, and was already plump with swelling.

Maybe he'd had worse, but Nate had never seen it. Blood stood out on his chest and hands. Nate went to the bathroom for a washcloth, and into the bedroom for a blanket. He cleaned up the worst of the dried on blood and covered Eliot with the blanket before turning to clean up the mess he'd made.

That done he stood, watching Eliot sleep and unsure of what to do with himself. Doctor or no, Eliot was going to need antibiotics, especially with that shoulder wound. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and ducked into the bedroom so his talking wouldn't wake Eliot.

"Hardison, I need you to get me some drugs." He wasn't about to tell Hardison why, but of all his people, Hardison could get them fastest. "Get me a prescription for some heavy duty painkillers and a strong antibiotic."

"Someone get shot?"

"Hardison, just do whatever it is you did when I needed them. Pharmacy on 11th."

"The twenty-four hour place? Give me ten minutes."

"Thanks." Nate pocketed his phone. He could get the pills and be back before Eliot woke up…make sure he took them before Nate went home and got some sleep himself.

 

 

He didn't even realize, until the pharmacy tech pointed it out, that he was wearing a fair amount of Eliot's blood. Nate thanked the man and climbed back into his car, wishing he'd brought the bottle of Scotch with him.

Eliot was still sleeping when he let himself back in and Nate didn't really want to wake him just to pour more pills down his throat, so he set the bottles on the counter in the kitchen and sought out the means to clean up the mess they'd made in the hallway.

It was nearly one in the morning when he let himself back into the apartment, emptying the bucket and rinsing out the sink. He washed his own hands and pulled his shirt off, soaking it in a hope of salvaging it eventually. He left it in the sink with a little soap he found under the sink, then slipped his shoes off so they wouldn't sound out against the hardwood floors.

Eliot's clothes would be a little tight on him, but Nate figured he could find something that would hold him over until he headed for home. He padded into the bedroom, sliding open the closet. It was neater than he imagined, not quite color coded and all like some people he knew, but orderly, in it's own way.

Not that there was a lot of variety. He found an old zip up sweatshirt that looked big enough and pulled it on, turning to look at the rest of the room now that the immediate crisis had passed. He had to admit he didn't know much about the man, at least not much more than his folder told him, and that was filled with as much misinformation as information, because Eliot was, if nothing else, his reputation.

Eliot's bed wasn't anything special, not even rightly made, though the blanket had been smoothed over the top before Nate had ripped it off to cover Eliot with. Two pillows. Nate had four, but two of them usually substituted for whoever wasn't in his bed. He couldn't sleep if the other side of the bed was empty.

There was some picture with horses over the bed, though Nate could tell from across the room it wasn't valuable. No, Eliot wouldn't keep valuable pieces here…if he spent money on art, or anything worth spending money on, it was someplace safe, someplace he wouldn't have to worry about leaving it behind when he had to run.

Furniture was sparse throughout the place. A small bookshelf stood in one corner of the bedroom, with pictures scattered across the top. Nate lifted one of Eliot and Amy, smiling a little. The two of them had looked good together. Somehow seeing them together, seeing Eliot with her had made Nate uncomfortable. He hadn't thought much about why.

He wasn't about to start in the middle of the night with not enough sleep and not enough alcohol and in the middle of a slow crash off of the adrenaline of earlier. He set the picture down amid the others that seemed to be more animals than people, a couple of horses, a golden lab, then there was a young boy that looked enough like Eliot to be a brother.

Nate heard Eliot cough, then groan and when he came out of the bedroom, he found Eliot trying to get up off the couch. "Whoa there cowboy." Nate got there in time to keep him laying down, but ended up with his hands on parts of Eliot's anatomy he'd never expected to touch. There was a flush to his skin, a heat that wasn't normal, and could herald the start of a fever.. He pulled his hands away as soon as he was sure that Eliot wasn't going to keep trying.

"Hey, I got you some meds. Stay put." He went to the kitchen for the pills and a glass of water. To his surprise, Eliot didn't argue and didn't ask, just took the pills and laid back down.

Nate hovered, torn between checking bandages and saying goodbye and unable to do either. Eliot looked up at him, some expression Nate couldn't read passing over his face. "You don't have to stay."

"I know…I just…you feel warm. Could be infection." He waved absently at the shoulder.

"I told you. I've had worse."

"You're ribs are broken. You should get them taped up." He sort of reached for the pile of first aid things on the table, but Eliot's eyes were already drifting shut again. "Or…you could sleep and we'll do it later." Nate reached down to pull the blanket up over his nearly naked body again, his hand brushing over Eliot's hard stomach. He froze, hoping Eliot didn't notice the way his hand lingered.

When Eliot didn't respond, Nate breathed out and his hand moved up, brushing hair out of Eliot's face. There was a soft whimper and Nate let his hand caress over his cheek before he pulled away, flushed and blushing. That wasn't why he was there. In fact, that was probably why he should go.

But Nate didn't go anywhere.

He sank into the broken in leather recliner, watching Eliot's face tighten, then relax again. Tired dragged on him, reminding him he'd been up since before dawn the day before and he wasn't as young as he used to be, and now that the adrenaline was fading…Nate closed his eyes, settling into the comfortable old chair.

"Nate?" He opened his eyes to find Eliot looking at him, his eyes bright. "Thanks."

The corners of Nate's mouth turned up softly and he nodded. "You're welcome."

It was quiet a while longer and Nate started to drift again. "Nate?"

Nate sighs and opens his eyes once more. Eliot's eyes are barely open now, the drugs pulling him toward sleep. "Could we not tell the others?"

"On one condition."

Eliot's eyes rolled open and he looked at Nate. "You tell me?"

Eliot nodded slowly. "Morning."

"Not a word." Nate promised. "Sleep. I'll make you breakfast."

He wasn't sure when he'd decided he was spending the night, but he couldn't leave Eliot now, not until he was sure the stubborn fool wouldn't need better medical care than his.

 

"So, you told me it was unfinished business." Nate prompted as he put coffee on the table. Eliot looked a whole lot better than he'd expected, bruised, pale and he made faces and winced a lot…but still, Nate had half expected to find them headed for an ER by morning.

He went back to the stove where he had scrambled eggs cooking.

"Like I said, in, out and gone. But these guys cheated."

"You said that too."

Eliot huffed and held his taped up ribs as he shifted in the chair. "There's a guy, in Singapore. We have history."

Nate didn't respond, just turned to look at him.

"Not our first rodeo."

"Looks like he was the bull this time." Nate observed, earning a roll of Eliot's eyes.

"Him and twelve guys, two machine guns and some rusted out farm equipment." Eliot lifted his mug of coffee, sipped and made a disgusted face. "You call this coffee?"

"Farm equipment?"

Eliot deflated as much as his ribs would allow. "I retrieved a statue fifteen years ago. He wants it back."

Nate got the impression there was a whole lot more to the story, but that this was all he was getting. He served up a plate of eggs and put it in front of Eliot. "Breakfast."

He was about to put more eggs on a second plate when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller id and lifted the phone. "Hardison?"

"I think you better get down here. We have a small problem."

"How small?"

"Ten to Twenty."

"I'm on my way." He hung up and shook his head. "I have to go."

"Problems?"

"Apparently one of my other criminals is in trouble. You going to be okay on your own?"

Eliot quirked a half smile. "I'll be fine, _Dad_. Go take care of the kiddies."

"I can come by later." Nate took a hesitant step closer, reluctant somehow to leave.

"Why?" Eliot asked, almost breathlessly.

He was too close, Nate knew it and couldn't step back. "Unfinished business?"

Eliot cleared his throat and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." Nate nodded too and the movement seemed to free him. "I'll…I'll call you." This was stupid. It wasn't like some strained one night stand he was escaping from…there was no awkward drunken sex to want to run away and hide from. Finally, he grabbed for his coat and left.

It was nothing. Concern for a friend. Only he'd told Eliot that they weren't friends…and maybe what he wanted from Eliot wasn't friendship. Nate felt the blush climb up from his toes as he climbed into the car. He wondered idly which of the girls was in trouble and what it would take to get them out of it, not to mention what story he was going to have to tell about Eliot…or his late night call to Hardison, or his need for the pills.

He exhaled and pulled out into traffic. One thing at a time. Eliot was safe for the moment. And for the moment, that would have to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate calls Eliot to pick him up at a bar when he's so drunk the bartender takes his keys and cuts him off...but an old mark spots them and Eliot gets the worst end of the resulting fight.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

It echoes around inside him, the only words his whiskey-sopped brain can manage as he kneels in the street and tries to decide which wound needs him and how he needs to deal with it. Blood stains his hands, his clothes, the street. So much blood.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

Eliot's face is pale, his breathing more of a wheeze and far, far too shallow. There are sirens now, but they're coming too slow, everything is too damn slow, including his hands that shake and fumble as he presses them against the gaping hole in Eliot's side. _Not enough_. He knows it's nowhere near enough, but he can't do any more than just hold on.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

Hands pull on him and he fights for a minute, thoughts too slow to realize they're trying to get him out of the way so they can help, then he's falling over backwards, sprawled on the ground and other people are bending over Eliot.

"Sir, are you okay?" Hands steady him, help him to his feet, hold him when he would have staggered back to Eliot. "Sir, I need you to look at me."

Nate blinks, his vision clearing of the red and white of Eliot's blood and skin, focuses in on the woman speaking to him, her mouth moving, though the sound was distorted and wrong. "Him…his blood." Nate says when it's clear she isn't letting it drop, when she expects him to answer and he isn't sure what the question is.

"Sir, have you been drinking?"

Nate looks away, ready to deny it, despite the smell of alcohol that permeates his clothing, his breath, his sweat. His eyes fall on Eliot and he lets go of the pretense. "Yeah…yeah…" He rubs his hands over his face, forgetting that they're covered in blood. She pulls his hands away. 

"Okay, sir, I need you to step over here and let me check you out."

Nate shakes his head, shivering. "Eliot…he's…he's…"

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

He hugs himself as she guides him to an open ambulance and begins checking him over, turning his hands, looking for wounds. "I told you." He pulls away. "I’m fine."

He isn't fine, he's drunk. Again. Or maybe still. And Eliot is--No, he wouldn't think that. Eliot would be okay. Eliot is always okay.

"We're losing him!" Nate jumps and the woman restrains him. 

"Sir, please, let us help him."

"Okay, got him back. We need to move people."

The woman drags him out of the way as they wheel the gurney closer, lifting Eliot into the ambulance. She holds a hand to Nate's back as she guides him in after the EMTs tending Eliot. The doors close and the ambulance lurches.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

 

The pain in his head is just beginning to register as the EMT shoves a bottle of water into his hands, taking the bad hospital coffee he's been sucking on away from him. He can't figure why she's still there. It's been more than an hour at least, probably more. In his current state he can't be sure.

"It will help flush the toxins out," she says in explanation to the question he doesn't ask. He cracks the bottle open and drinks from it, making a face. "How are you feeling?"

Nate knows she's trying to help, but he doesn't need yet another woman harping on him and his drinking. "I'm still drunk enough to think this," he holds up the water, "isn't what I want and not sober enough to be hungover enough to swear off ever drinking again."

"Something tells me that isn't a promise you're likely to keep anyway." She's not condescending, but it still feels that way. "I know a career drunk when I see one."

"I'm not--" He grimaces and hides it behind taking another drink. He's been denying it a long, long time. Isn't sure he knows how to do anything else. "I have my reasons." He says instead. It isn't really an admission. He doesn't look at her, doesn't want to see the concern, the knowing look.

"We all do." Her voice is soft, her hand on his arm hot. "And they seem like good ones, they feel real, and we hold on to them…until they kill us, or we figure out that they aren't what keeps us from stopping."

Nate pulls away, stands. "Fuck you. You don't know anything about me."

"Mr. Ford?" 

Nate whirls to the doctor entering the waiting room. "Eliot?"

He can tell with one look that it isn't good. 

"Your friend is stable for the moment, but the damage was extensive, and he lost a lot of blood."

"But he'll be okay?" Nate holds his breath, blinks. He has to be okay.

"I don't know," the doctor responds.

Nate shakes his head because that isn't the answer he expects, isn't the answer he wants. "I need to see him."

"What you need to do, Mr. Ford is go home and get sober, take a shower, get some sleep. We'll know more in the morning when--" 

Nate shoves past him, looking up and down the hall. "Which room?" He picks a direction and stalks that way, the EMT and the doctor on his heels.

"Mr. Ford."

"Where is he?" Nate moves faster than is probably wise, intent on finding Eliot. When he does, he skids to a stop, holding the window frame into the room, his knees wobbling. Eliot lay amid tubes and monitors, his face pale, his shoulder wrapped in bandages, the rest of him hidden by blankets.

"Mr. Ford, Mr. Spencer needs his rest. And so do you."

She is pulling on his arm, pulling him away from Eliot. For a minute Nate fights, holding to the window frame, holding the image of Eliot in his mind. Then he is stumbling back, away, looking at the doctor, then the floors and he is outside in the small hours of the morning, trying to breathe through the rising nausea before he doubles over and vomits over his shoes.

The EMT stops, her hand rubbing circles on his back. He wants to yell at her to stop, wants to pull away, but he can't stop retching, can't stop the torrent of words in his head.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

 

Nate wakes up with bricks where his brain used to be and a washing machine for a stomach, reaching instinctively to the bedside table for the bottle of booze he keeps there for mornings just like this one.

He only opens his eyes when his hand can't find it. The bottle is gone and in its place is a bottle of water. Nate groans and covers his eyes. The light coming in the windows is too bright, his head pounding as he rolls to his side and tries to sit up.

He shuffles as far as the bathroom, squinting at the rumpled, rough reflection in the mirror. There's blood on his face, along the hairline and for a long moment he can only stare trying to place the reason for it.

Eliot.

He remembers Eliot. He remembers calling Eliot from the bar because the bastard bar tender had stolen his keys. He remembers waiting for Eliot outside the bar, remembers the way everything slowed down. 

The man had recognized Nate before Nate recognized him, a mark they had conned out of three million dollars a couple of months before. He had nowhere to go and he was too drunk to even try talking his way out. Eliot could have handled them, would have handled them...but, his attention was divided. Nate tried to help, but all he did was make it worse…and then he'd watched the knife, the blood, watched Eliot fall, his face already slack.

Nate is shaking as he turns on the cold water, splashing it up onto his skin and scrubbing at it. Eliot's blood runs pink into the sink. Nate pulls a towel over his face and lifts his head. Dark half circles under his eyes aren't quite black eyes yet, but they will be. A bruise dusts his jaw line. But he'd gotten off light. 

Eliot is laying in a hospital bed, clinging to life.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

The thought echoes around in his head as he shoves away from the sink and shuffles out of the bathroom. He had a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard that is calling his name. He recoils as he comes out of the hall, the light of a late afternoon streaming in windows he never left open. Fresh, cool air flows in with the brutal light and he fumbles on the hallway table for his sunglasses before he ventures far enough into the living room to get one of the blinds closed.

He can't quite manage the others, turning with one hand raised to shield his eyes as he groans and heads toward the kitchen, only as he gets there he realizes something, other than his missing bottle and the ungodly amount of light and the fact that Eliot lay dying was very wrong. There was music for one thing. In his house. In his kitchen. 

And the smell of food. The kind that you cook on a stove, not dig out of the leftovers in the fridge and pop in the microwave just so you can drink a little more before you pass out. Nate gets as far as the door, feeling decidedly like he might be sick and she turns to him, a tight smile as she gestures toward the chair for him to sit. 

"Um…" He doesn't remember bringing anyone home…but then, he doesn't really remember coming home, so it's hard to say. She sets a bottle of water and some aspirin in front of him, then goes back to whatever she's cooking. "I don't mean this to sound wrong…but…"

She set a plate in front of him, filled with pan-fried potatoes and eggs and toast. "Don't worry. I was a perfect lady." She sits beside him, a forkful of potatoes half way to her mouth before she looks up at him.

Red-brown hair is pulled back in a pony-tail, a smattering of freckles accent her pale skin and she smiles softly. "It's okay, I don't expect you to remember. I'm Veronica Daly. You can call me Ronnie."

"Ronnie. Right." Nate makes an attempt at the food, but the first bite is enough to tell him he isn't ready for anything quite that solid. It still wasn't making sense. He had no idea who this woman is.

"I brought you home from the hospital," she supplies as if she could tell he was fumbling. "I was with you when we brought your friend in."

"Eliot." Nate breathes the word, pain that had nothing to do with needing a drink stabbing through his stomach. 

"I called the hospital. He's doing better. Hasn't woke up yet, but the doctor seems much more optimistic."

Nate pushes his chair back and stands. "I need to get down there."

She catches his hand. "You need to sit down and eat. Then you can shower and get dressed and I'll take you."

"No, now. I need to see him." His stomach twists as he remembers Eliot's face, the surprise that faded so fast into blank disbelief. The knife cut deep and the blood was hot when it splattered against Nate's skin. 

"Not until you get cleaned up. The hospital won't let you in like that." She lets go of him. "Besides, I'm your only ride, from what you said last night the bartender took your keys and your car is still parked there."

He grumbles, growls, considers arguing, but he knows with one look it won't get him anywhere so he stalks back to the bathroom and starts the shower. The hot water feels better than it has any right to, and he stands under it, flashes of memory slamming into him. Fists, bruises, Eliot's body getting between Nate and the knife.

The water is cooling and that just reminds him of the way Eliot's skin went cold, so he decides he's had enough. Remarkably, he does feel better as he wipes the mirror to shave.

He's half way through dragging two days' worth of growth off his face when he hears his doorbell, and Ronnie's voice…followed by Sophie's. Shit. He heads out of the bathroom, forgetting for the moment that he's only wearing a towel and that his face is dripping shaving cream.

Sophie doesn't even blink, doesn't take mind of Ronnie standing there as she launches herself across the room toward him. Nate doesn't think he's ever seen her so angry, she's practically vibrating. "Were you going to tell us at all?" She throws her purse onto the table, hands on her hips. "The police came to the office, Hardison is hopefully still stalling them, because they were on the way over here to ask you about Eliot." She pauses, staring at him.

Nate figures he should say something. He just doesn't know what. He shrugs a little and she explodes at him. "You do know he's in the hospital? Right? You were there, weren't you? Last night. When you called him to come get you?"

Shit, she wasn't supposed to know about it. "I was at the office with him when you called."

"I—he…" What could he say? 

"You were drunk. Again."

"Sophie—"

"No, Nate. I warned you. I told you this would happen."

Not this. None of them ever imagined this. "We weren't working. I was on my own time." He glances at Ronnie who is starting to look very uncomfortable. "Look, let me finish shaving and get dressed, we can go down to see him."

"I shouldn't let you anywhere near him."

She is really upset, and there will be no placating her with promises to be better. "Just give me ten minutes."

He half expects she'll be gone before he came back out, but instead, it is Ronnie who is getting ready to go. "I can see you're in good hands. I left my number on the fridge…in case you ever need someone to talk to. Someone who's been where you are now."

"New friend?" Sophie asks as they head for her car.

"EMT." Nate answers reflexively, as if that were an actual answer to the question. "I don't know, she got me home last night." He didn't tell her that Ronnie had stolen his bottles, that she had made an effort to keep him from dumping himself back into them. "This wasn't my fault, Sophie." It is his fault, everything about it.

The car screeches to a halt and she turns to him, ignoring the honking horns and the traffic around them. "Oh no you don't, Nate. Not this time. Not this. I—we've put up with an awful lot from you and we've done our best to keep you from killing yourself or one of us. But this…no." She shakes her head and turns back to the road, setting them moving again.

They drive a ways in silence, and Sophie doesn't look at him when she speaks again. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

Nate closes his eyes. Some of the details are a little fuzzy still. He called Eliot from inside the bar. The bouncer walked him out after he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to pick a fight with at least three different guys who could have, maybe should have, beaten the shit out of him.

"Jack Harmon." Nate murmured, suddenly remembering the bastard's name. He had come to the door of the bar, eyed Nate up and down and disappeared inside. Before Nate had made the connection, Eliot was there. Eliot was angry, that quiet sort of anger that reeked of disappointment. He'd tried to make it better, tried to make it about them, about the weird, sort of relationship they'd been quietly building since that night Eliot had called _him_ for a pickup, but that only made Eliot's face get hard and set.

It all went to hell after that, the door opening, men shouting, grabbing at them, Eliot yelling at him to get out of the way. 

"The mark from Ellicot?" 

Nate nodes miserably and turns to watch out the window. "He saw me, recognized me. Eliot was just trying to protect me. I…got in the way."

He sees it again and again, Eliot shoving him out of the way, missing the guy with the knife, the blood, Eliot's body just…falling to the ground. 

"Hardison is working on security cameras. You will eventually have to talk to the police. Best to play to your strengths. Tell them you were too drunk to remember. Let us deal with Harmon."

"Sophie—" She holds up her hand and shakes her head. 

Nate nods to himself and settles in for the rest of the ride.

 

Eliot lies still and Nate has to watch his chest carefully to believe he's still breathing. His normally tanned skin is pale, his beautiful eyes closed. Parker sits beside him quietly, but she feels them coming and looks up, her eyes narrowing on Nate as she stands, putting aside whatever she had been reading. 

"What is _he_ doing here?" Parker asks, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Parker, Nate is worried too."

"He should be." Under any other circumstances, Parker trying to look threatening is funny, but today, Nate doesn't see the humor, he feels the threat.

"Parker." Sophie draws Parker to the side. "What have the doctors said?"

"They've stopped the bleeding. He's stable, but he was really torn up. Lost a lot of blood."

"But he's going to be all right?"

Parker shrugs, her eyes on Nate again. He can feel them. Fortunately, he doesn't need to answer to her, because two police officers are coming toward them. "Mr. Nathan Ford?"

Nate heaves a sigh and nods, turning away from Sophie and Parker. "We'd like to talk to you about what happened."

"I--" Sophie's right, he knows she is. Play dumb, play the black-out card. "I was drunk. I guess I called my friend to come get me when I got kicked out of the bar." He rubs his hand over his face, through his hair. "I don't really remember much. One minute I was sipping on my drink, the next I was outside and then there was blood and I woke up at home."

"Witnesses say you were trying to pick a fight in the bar."

Nate really doesn't want to be talking to these guys, not when Eliot is lying in there alone. "I was drunk and pissed and I really don't remember a whole lot about it."

"You don't know who did this?"

Nate shook his head, which was a really stupid idea because his head hurt and that just made it worse. 

The cop scribbles notes. The other one crosses his arms and stares at Nate. "Maybe Eliot…" Nate looks over his shoulder. "When he wakes up…" He knows it's still more on the side of **if** he wakes up and starts shaking. He could really use a drink. Or five. "If that's all, I'd really like to be with my friend."

The one making notes nods. "We'll be in touch."

 

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

He sits with one hand over Eliot's, his head bowed, his eyes closed. He isn't praying. He gave that up years before. They're alone, the girls have gone to check in with Hardison after Sophie made him promise he'd stay and not drink.

His hands shake when they aren't holding something, so he holds Eliot's hand and he holds the chair. He's sweaty and cold, his body aches in places that seem strange and unrelated to anything. He wants to find the nearest bar or liquor store and bury himself in something stiff and strong.

He lifts his head to look at Eliot. Some of the tubes are gone and he looks a little more peaceful than he had, but for the bruises and bandages. He'd told Eliot more than once that they weren't friends…and then he'd begun to think that maybe what he and Eliot had was something else entirely.

It had been months since the night Eliot called him and asked Nate to pick him up after a private job went bad. Months where they'd ended up spending time together without the rest of the team. Nate had sat with him while he was injured. Eliot had shown up at his apartment after Nate's ex-wife had called out of the blue while they were on a job. It was strange and sometimes really awkward.

Sometimes though, when they were sitting on Nate's broken down couch or at Eliot's kitchen table, shoulders or elbows or knees touching, quiet settled around them, it was good. It was nice. 

And then had come that case. Nate had fallen into the bottle and it had been weeks since he last crawled out of it. He and Eliot never talked about it, other than that whole group intervention thing in Miami when Eliot made it clear he wasn't going to stop Nate from destroying himself.

Things between them had been strained ever since. And now this. He wonders if Eliot will ever speak to him again. He's pretty sure that they'll never go back to where it had been, back to the comfortable silences that were slowly leading into _something_ else…And maybe Nate doesn't even know if he can go there again, forget that Eliot's a guy and Nate's never really considered himself gay, just the idea of letting someone in, letting someone else love the fucked up mess that he was…

Nate sighs and lowers his head, resting it atop his hand over Eliot's.

_Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die._

"Live through this Eliot and I swear to you I'll never put you in that position again." He can't promise to never drink again, he doesn't know if it's a promise he can keep. He presses his lips to the tips of Eliot's fingers, fervent and desperate. "I swear. Just don't die now. We have unfinished business you and me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot wakes up in the hospital to an angry Parker, a protective Sophie and an absent Nate. When he decides he's had enough of no one telling him what's going on, he finds that maybe Nate has reasons beyond him for staying away.

The last thing he remembered clearly was shoving Nate out of the way. Everything after that got a little hazy and out of order. He remembered Nate talking, broken with bits of fighting and hot, then cold. It felt wrong, disconnected somehow. 

He opened his eyes, blinking against the bright glare. Panic flared through him for a moment before he recognized he was in a hospital room. Which meant whatever had gone wrong had gone bad. He blinked, turning his head.

Parker was sitting in the chair nearby, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes closed as she leaned on her knees. Eliot cleared his throat and her eyes popped open. "Oh! You're awake."

She unfolded and stood, reaching for him and then pulling back before she'd even touched him. "You…I should get a doctor."

Eliot reached his hand out and she stopped. "Nate?"

Her whole face crinkled up and she was gone before he figured out what that meant. Anger. Parker was angry. At Nate.

Eliot tried to reason that out, but before he did, there was a doctor with Parker. "Mr. Spencer, I'm Dr. Hanson. I'm relieved to see you're awake."

Eliot was still looking at Parker, his frown matching hers. "What's the damage, doc?"

"You took two severe lacerations to the abdomen, one of which did some internal damage. Broken rib, sprained wrist, bruises, a concussion." 

Eliot lifted his right hand, and all the tubes attached to rub at the back of his head. He did remember that, hitting the ground hard. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days." Parker said before the doctor could answer.

Eliot frowned more, despite the way it made his head hurt. "Three days?" He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that there was more. "Where is Nate?"

Parker crinkled her nose. "I don't know."

"But he's okay?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking."

"How long you keeping me?" Eliot asked the doctor, though he kept looking at Parker.

"You just came out of a coma, Mr. Spencer. I don't think you should be worried about-"

Eliot flicked his eyes to the doctor. "How long?"

"I--we'll have to wait and see."

"I don't think so." Eliot started to sit up, moving blankets off him so he could stand. His head was pounding and his side hurt, but it wasn't enough to keep him in bed, not when he wasn't getting straight answers out of Parker.

The doctor's hand on his shoulder stopped him long enough to feel the wave of fatigue and pain. "I will sedate you if I must." The doctor said it coldly.

Normally Eliot wouldn't let someone like this guy stop him, but the room was starting to spin and laying down seemed a lot more likely, even if he pushed to get up. Slowly, he let the doctor guide him down and smooth the thin hospital blanket back up over him. 

"Now, as I was going to say, you are healing well, but we'll want to keep you in bed for the time being." The doctor scribbled something on his chart and smiled tightly. "I'll be back later."

Eliot rubbed at his face. "Parker--" 

She sat on the bed and patted his thigh. He supposed it was meant to be soothing. "We were worried."

"We were?" Eliot really wasn't in a mood to deal with Parker's oddities. "Is Nate okay?"

She must have realized he wasn't going to let it go, her shoulders sagging. "He nearly got you killed." She did that thing with her mouth, pursing her lips and then pressing them together, that she did when she didn't want to answer something. "Last time I saw him he was fine. Okay, maybe not fine. He was a mess, hungover, dirty…all disheveled. I wasn't very nice to him."

"This wasn't his fault, Parker." Eliot said as understanding dawned. "He didn't do this."

She crossed her arms, her eyebrows bunched together as she scowled at him. "He's been drunk since Miami. Nearly killed Hardison because he lost track of the mark in Pittsburgh."

Eliot understood that at least. Nate had been drinking an awful lot since the job in Miami. And Eliot had told him then, in front of everybody that he wasn't going to go down with him, and here he was in a hospital bed. He exhaled slowly and reached for her hand. He wanted to make her understand, but whatever injuries he had and drugs were getting pumped into him, he was drowsy.

"Told him a while ago to call me…told him I'd come for him. He called. I went. Stupid fight. Knife. Not his fault."

His eyes were closing despite his efforts to keep them open. Before he could tell if she'd heard him, he was asleep again.

 

The room was dim the next time he was awake, the only light coming in through the open door from the hallway and the display of the monitor beside his bed. The pain seemed to have receded some as Eliot shifted and sat up a little. He wanted to stretch, but could tell his stomach muscles wouldn't like that much. His hand went to his stomach, to the thick bandages cover what he could tell was a good six or seven inch cut.

"You should be asleep."

The voice startled him and Eliot turned his head, surprised to find Nate standing in the shadows in the corner of the room. He hadn't sensed anyone else in the room. 

"Nate." Eliot cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes to see into the gloom. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

He heard him take a deep breath before he stepped out of the shadow and closer to the bed. Eliot looked him up and down, half expecting bandages or bruises or something. He was dressed down, faded jeans and a sweatshirt, but he looked somehow cleaner than Eliot had seen in a while. He was clean shaven and freshly showered.

He was also pale and his hands shook as he brushed them over Eliot's arm. "I heard you woke up. I wanted to be sure you were okay."

"Heard?" He remembered Parker's face. "What's going on Nate?"

He shrugged a little, then shook his head. "Doesn't matter. As long as you're going to be okay."

"I'm fine." Eliot said reflexively, brushing off the concern. Of course, they both knew that wasn't the whole truth. If he were fine, he wouldn't be here. "Talk to me."

"You nearly died. I watched them work on you."

"Nate, I'm fine." Eliot insisted, grabbing Nate's hand. "What's going on with you?"

"You wouldn't have been there if I hadn't called."

Nate didn't look at him, even when Eliot tugged on his hand. "If you hadn't called, you'd probably be dead." Eliot said. "You don't think I'm angry about this, do you?"

Nate licked his lips, but before he could say anything a nurse was coming toward them. "Visiting hours were over hours ago, Mr. Ford. I told you last night, you can't be here now."

He nodded, pulling his hand away. "It's okay, I was just leaving."

"Nate!"

"You should be sleeping." The nurse checked his chart and his IV. "You want something to help? Doctor left orders for it if you want it."

Eliot shook his head. He didn't want the groggy headedness that came with still more drugs. "I'm fine."

 

"You are not fine." Sophie crossed her arms and stared at him as he tested the strength of his legs. "You need to be in bed."

"I need someone to give me a fucking straight answer." Eliot countered, deciding that his legs would hold him. "What is going on?"

She huffed as he shuffled toward the end of the bed. He was free of the IV after another two days of complaining to anyone who would listen that he was fine and ready to rip it out himself if he had to. Sophie grabbed the pants he was reaching for away from him.

"It's nothing for you to worry about. We're handling it."

It was his turn to cross his arms and glare. "Handling it? Handling what?" So far all he knew was that the guys who did this to him had been coming after Nate. He wasn't even sure why.

"Jack Harmon." Sophie said quietly when he made it clear that he wasn't going to let it drop. 

Eliot frowned at her. He'd been frowning a lot in the last few days. "The mark from Ellicot?"

"Yes. Hardison and Parker and I are dealing with him."

Eliot snorted and turned to lean on the bed. "Without Nate?"

"Nate has been in no condition to be helpful."

"So…what? What kind of con could you possibly run on this guy? He knows us, knows our faces…"

Sophie shook her head tightly. "No con. Not this time. I said we were handling it."

"Sophie, what are you doing?"

"There he is." Hardison's voice bounced off the walls as he came in, shopping bags in both hands. "As requested, shoes, shirt, hamburger from Dino's. Everything a growing boy needs."

Sophie grabbed at the bag that obviously held clothes. "No. You're not helping him."

"I'm not staying here." Eliot said, grabbing at the bag, though she pulled it away.

Hardison's expressive face went from open and happy to a deep frown. "You said they were letting you go."

"No, I said I was done here." Eliot countered. "Give me the damn bag."

Hardison handed over the food, then backed away, hands up. "Not getting in the middle of this."

"Don't you have work to be doing?" Sophie asked, her voice darker than Eliot remembered ever hearing it.

"On it. I almost feel sorry for the man. Won't know what hit him."

Eliot pulled the hamburger out of the bag and sank back onto the bed. "Oh, he'll know, Hardison. I'll make sure of that."

When Hardison was gone Eliot looked up at Sophie. "I'm serious. I'm not staying. Give me the clothes and I won't hurt you taking them from you."

"You are a stubborn idiot."

Eliot grinned and bit into the burger. "Tell me something I don't know."

 

To his surprise, Sophie was actually waiting for him when he made it downstairs. He held one had across his stomach and he moved slow, but he moved and   
made it out the door, despite the nurse who had tried to stop him.

He sank into the passenger seat of the car gratefully. "Take me to Nate's."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but didn't, scowling at the steering wheel as they pulled out into traffic. "What?" Eliot asked when the silence was wearing on his nerves.

"Why?" she asked in return. "Why him?"

He was confused for a minute, then realized she was asking why he wanted to go to Nate's house. "I need to know he's okay." Eliot said in response. "He was really fucked up before this. He's blaming himself."

"He should. He should blame himself. If he could haul himself out of a bottle long enough to see what he's doing--"

Eliot touched her arm. "Stop. It isn't his fault. Not completely." He shook his head. "Maybe if you'd see past the bottle, you'd get that he doesn't need someone to take the bottle away from him. He needs someone to give him a reason to put the bottle down."

Up until Miami, Eliot had thought maybe he'd started to give Nate that. Then came the job that reminded him of all the reasons he'd climbed into a bottle to begin with. His phone call to Eliot that night had been the first time he'd reached out since.

"Is that what you are, Eliot?" Sophie asked as she stopped in front of the building. "Is that what you're thinking? That you can fix him? Fix this?"

Eliot looked up at Nate's window for a few minutes, then exhaled. "Let's just call it unfinished business, okay?" He opened the car door and stood slowly. "Thanks for the ride."

He leaned on the wall of the elevator, watching the numbers light up. He wasn't ready to give up on Nate, even if the others were. In the hours they'd spent together before Miami, Eliot had seen something in him, and he'd made the man a promise.

Okay, maybe he'd never verbalized it, but he meant it, and that was all that mattered. When he'd told Nate that he could call him any time and he'd come for him, Eliot had meant it.

He knocked on the door, leaning against the door jamb as he waited. When the door opened, Eliot blinked a little. He didn't know exactly what he was expecting to walk into, but this wasn't it.

Nate blinked back at him, seemingly struck mute by his appearance. The woman smiled at him though. "You certainly look better than the last time I saw you."

Eliot stared at her blankly. "I'm sorry, I--"

She stood and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. You wouldn't remember. You were unconscious at the time."

"Ronnie is an EMT." Nate said suddenly. Eliot took a few steps into the apartment, not sure that was an invitation, but starting to really need to sit. "She was there…the night…"

Eliot nodded. "Ronnie?"

"You don't look like you should be on your feet." Her hand was gentle as she guided him to a seat in Nate's broken down recliner. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine." Eliot said. It was beginning to sound like a mantra. "Really…maybe some water?"

Nate's face was red as she left the room and Eliot kicked himself for presuming. This was going to get really awkward if he didn't find a way to extricate himself, fast.

"I should have called." Eliot said, shifting to ease the throbbing ache in his side. "Sorry."

Nate paced a little, looking up when Ronnie came back with a glass of water. "You should be in the hospital still." Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "But I'm betting you're not really a good patient, are you?"

"Not so much." Eliot agreed, watching Nate. "I don't sit still well."

"Neither does he," she observed, sitting back on the couch, watching Nate as well. 

"He can hear you." Nate said, stopping and dragging a hand through his hair.

Eliot squinted at him. There was something different. He looked at Ronnie again, at the way she was looking at Nate. Obviously. Nate had never really been interested in him that way. He didn't know why he'd ever thought maybe he would be. He'd been a surrogate, someone who would fill the gaps until the right woman came along.

"This was a bad idea. I should go."

"No!" Nate jumped toward him, then pulled back again. "You…look at you…you're in no shape. Stay…there's an extra bed."

"I'm going to have to agree." Ronnie said, leaning forward. "You don't look like you should be going anywhere, and Nate's been worried about you. Let me make up the bed. You can rest, and later, when you're feeling better, I'll take you home."

Eliot didn't want to agree, but he wasn't sure he'd make it home on his own just now. "I don't want to be any trouble."

Her smile was bright. "No trouble. I have to work tonight. I can take you home on my way." She patted his knee and got up, disappearing again.

Nate went back to pacing, the quiet stretching between them. "Are you okay?" Eliot asked finally when he couldn't take the silence anymore.

"What? You're asking me?" Nate stopped, the expression on his face unreadable. "You…I'm fine. I mean, I could use a drink. God, I could really use a drink."

That was when Eliot figured it out. Nate was sober. Very sober. Nate shoved his shaking hands into his armpits and went back to pacing. 

"Okay, we're all set." Ronnie's hand was on his arm, helping him slowly to his feet. Nate followed them down the hall, hovering as Ronnie guided Eliot to the bed, lifting his feet for him and easing the sneakers from them. "I'm just going to check your bandages, okay?"

Eliot nodded, but he was mostly watching Nate. Watching Nate chew his fingers and fidget, watching Nate rock back and forth and finally leave the room. "He'll be okay." Ronnie said softly, her fingers pressing the bandage on his side back into place. 

"I don't think I've ever seen him sober. Not that sober."

Her smile was a little sad. "He's never had a reason to be before now."

"How long?"

Her hand rested over the bandages. "Since this."

"It ain't over then."

"The withdrawal? No, it's going to be a rough couple of weeks for him. Maybe months. But he'll get through it."

Eliot nodded. "He's a good guy."

She laughed a little. "I'm glad you think so. He seems to think the world of you."

"Me?" Eliot watched his shadow in the hallway as he neared the door, then backed away. "Nah, I'm just…we ain't even rightly friends."

"No, probably not." She lifted a blanket and settled it over him. "Friends would imply the two of you actually talked to one another and understood one another. I can clearly see you both fail in regard to that."

She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. "But you're both smart boys. I'm sure you'll figure it out." She left him then, gathering Nate and guiding him back down the hall. 

His head and side throbbed. Fatigue tugged him toward sleep, but her words bothered him. There wasn't anything to figure out. As soon as he was able, he'd go home and then it would be over. Nate wouldn't need him anymore.

 

Eliot wasn't sure how they pulled it off, but Jack Harmon ended up on the wrong end of a federal indictment two weeks later and sitting in jail pending trial. Hardison was particularly pleased with himself.

In those two weeks, Eliot mostly kept to himself, though they all came by to check up in him. Everyone but Nate. Even the pretty EMT.

It had been a good ride. Eliot had learned a few things. But maybe it was time to be moving on. There was a job in Reno he'd turned down, but maybe he was healed up enough to take it on.

His phone rang as he packed his bag. He answered it, half expecting it to be Sophie again, telling him to come back. "What?"

"Heard you were leaving."

Nate. Eliot turned and sat on the end of the bed. "Who told you?"

"Parker. She called me stupid."

Eliot could almost picture him rubbing his forehead. "So, is it true?"

"Got a job." Eliot said, avoiding the direct answer.

"Good. You should work."

Obviously Nate was avoiding directness too. "Reno, couple of weeks." 

"You going to come back?" There was hope and hesitation in his voice.

"I don't know." Eliot answered honestly. "Not sure there's a reason."

They were quiet. "You should come back." Nate said after a time. 

"Yeah? Why?" He could hear Nate breathing.

"I want you to." 

"Nate…you don't--"

"Eliot…just, come back when you're done. Okay? Just, come back and we'll talk."

Eliot sighed. "Why Nate? Talk about what?"

For the longest time the line was quiet and Eliot almost thought Nate had hung up. "I don't want you to hate me." Nate's voice was quiet. "I mean, you probably do, and I get that…but I want you to know a few things, and I'm not ready to say them yet,…but I'm trying, so I want you to come back. I want you to come back and give me a chance to say them so that when you really leave…when you leave for good, you'll know and maybe won't hate me so much." His voice hitched a little as he finished the rush of words and Eliot's breath caught in his throat.

"I don't hate you."

"Then you'll come back. Right?"

Eliot knew better, knew he should cut ties and run. But he found himself nodding. "Couple of weeks." He hung up the phone and dumped it onto the bed behind him. He'd come back and finish this. And they'd both be better off for it.


End file.
